


2960 (but i'll love you anytime)

by AC_EKO, auto



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Drag Queens, Future Fic, M/M, eventual crossdressing jinhwan, set in New York
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-14 17:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17512901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AC_EKO/pseuds/AC_EKO, https://archiveofourown.org/users/auto/pseuds/auto
Summary: jiwon kim, 19, is a bartender at the most ostentaticous club in the multiverse. hanbin kim, 20, is the most ostentacious rapper in the multiverse. jiwon hates ostentacious people. hanbin hates people hating him.you see where this is going.(meanwhile, jinhwan is a trainee drag queen and junhwe is his biggest fan— but he doesn't know that yet)--it's the 30th century. humans have figured everything out. from teleportation to inter-dimension travel to androids that are more human than humans themselves, gargantuan improvements have been made to society.but despite all these changes, one thing remains the same: the desire to party.





	1. the climax

**Author's Note:**

> so this was the beginning of an RP i wrote with a friend. i'll probably continue it but not until i finish the vixxfic im writing uwu

After sunset, New York was a firefly in an ocean of darkness. A beam, a beacon of life cutting through the black of nothingness. The activity never stopped—people swam through the neon colors and noise like minnows in a tank.

 

The stars barely showed, unable to compete with the energy of the city below. Instead, unlike New York, they slept.

 

One hour and twelve minutes until midnight, converse thump on asphalt.

 

A flurry of floppy purple hair weaves in and our between bodies in a crowd outside a bus station, giving no response when heads turn and people scoff. Check wristwatch, tick tock tick tock. Time ( _money?_ ) was wasting.

 

Almost late. But he still has time.

 

The wearer of the converse descends the entrance to the General Photobased Transportation Station of Downtown Brooklyn—the first of its kind on the east coast of the Greater American Supernation. The station is divided into three branches—northern, central and latin American light paths.

 

He takes the middle path, running towards the rows upon rows of glowing circles on the floor in front of the far wall.

 

Disintegration points.

 

Each circle is sat in front of a keypad with a small, glowing screen. Ice blue, like the overhead lights, like the light paths, like the glowing tracker wristband on the boy’s wrist.

 

There are at least thirty people queued in front of each point, but the lines are moving incredibly fast—almost constantly. The boy with the purple hair and the worn-out converse bounds into the shortest line.

 

The subway system had been the prime paragon of New York culture. Bright, bustling, busy. Running 24 hours, it gave New York it’s insomniac reputation. But after the introduction of Personal Transportation Devices, the systems were shut down, replaced with the Light Paths along which PTD owners could travel.

 

It had been devised in 2419 by a pair of Chinese scientists and despite that nowadays, ‘China’ no longer existed as a nation, it had truly been the innovation of its time.

 

The line moves quickly, and he soon finds himself in front of the keypad. Muscle memory compels him to key in the correct postcode without even looking, and it’s without looking that he presses the ring on his finger against the machine, scanning the device attached to it.

 

He steps onto the light circle.

 

In the 30th century, even a small child could convert atoms into light energy and back—all that was needed were a few Katzogenic crystals (costing only a few dollars) and the right microscale toolkit.

 

However, the use of the PTD has continued despite it’s three-hundred-year-old roots—the only changes that have been made are minor improvements and fine-tunings. For example, the downsizing of the PTD from the size of the average palm to the average human fingernail.

 

Thanks to the work of scientists in the current generation, the average light path travel speed had gone from approximately 50 to 1000 kilometers a seconds — making it possible to travel from San Francisco to Miami in just under 5 seconds.

 

The circle erupts in light, shooting off a beam of blue that envelops the boy’s body and quite literally pulls him apart. The disintegration process was never painful, but it did take some time to get used to the sensation of having your cells ripped away from each other and then reassembled miles and miles away.

 

Normally, Bobby wouldn’t use his Light Transfer Credits (the currency involved in light transportation) to travel to Manhattan from Brooklyn, but he only had four more minutes to get to The Climax and he sure as hell wasn’t going to pay 30 dollars for a taxi to fly him across the two boroughs.

 

He blinks, and when his eyes open, he’s in the Manhattan GPT station.

 

He doesn’t even pause—the second his eyes are open, he’s hitting the concrete, serpentining through the crowd of the much larger station. Luckily, the biggest bar in New York is just across Times Square—conveniently adjacent to the station. With wings on his converse, Bobby sprints 300 meters and darts down an alleyway behind an old apartment building.

 

The one part of New York where darkness lives.

 

One hour and two minutes until midnight. He steps up to a cast-iron door and raps on the surface. A pale red laser shoots out, scans his irises.

 

“You’re late.” A deep voice booms, shaking the black door.

 

He bends at the waist, submissive. Despite there being no cameras, he knows he’s being watched. Aware that even though he’s actually one minute early, he really needs this job, and defers.

 

“I apologize, sir. It will never happen again.”

 

“You’re right about that.” Then, the door’s surface is suddenly reflective, swirling and shining and undulating frostily in the dark of the alley. Bobby steps through the denatured particle field with ease.

 

When he steps through, his converse have been replaced with a pair of leather dress shoes with glowing soles, his tattered jeans with a pair of tailored suit pants, and his oversized T-shirt with a fitted lavender dress shirt, as well as a black silk bowtie. His street styled silver ear chains have been swapped out for black studs and he can feel the extra weight of the makeup and silver eye contacts that have taken residence on his face.

 

He feels a weird sensation on his face and brings a hand up to his lip to feel the black piercing that has taken residence on it. Luckily, the rolled up sleeves of his shirt prove that his sleeve tattoos haven’t gone anywhere.

 

It’s clear the funds for The Climax had been focused much more on improving the interior of the building rather than the outside. The ceiling is at least twenty meters high, with arched ceilings and contemporary geodesic stained-glass windows.

 

There are six different dance floors, each with an appearance similar to the face of a Rubix cube—squares upon glowing squares, cycling through a spectrum of neon colors.

 

It’s early just now, so there aren’t many people, but the few dancers who are cutting a rug on the floor trigger patterns of swirling fleurs and star-trails with each step on the specialized flooring.

 

It seems whoever decorated the place put special effort into making sure it was as neon as possible, as signs were hung in every nook and cranny, giving the bar a very chic, yet chill atmosphere.

 

There are pools of fluorescent liquid dotted haphazardly around the edges of the club, being fed by numerous taps hung from the ceiling pouring fluid directly into them. It’s like a hundred rainbow waterfalls, like lava in a thousand colors.

 

The trickles of the bright fluids define walkways that divide the club into specific partitions, making it easier for the patrons to find their way around.

 

Waitresses dressed in cyberpunk outfits are busing drinks, their too-short electronic clothing highlighting every curve and edge of their bodies. They relay back and forth between the ground floor and the VIP bar, which is essentially a circular disc floating halfway between the floor and the ceiling.

 

It consists of a closed ring containing the bartenders and drinks, which is contained by another ring surrounded by bar stools that allow the customers to order their drinks. The bottom of it is covered in, predictably, neon lights, which cast a subtle halo on the patrons below.

 

The VIP bar is accessible via two spiral staircases on either side of the room, which wind directly upwards and then connect to the bar area in the middle using suspended catwalks. The catwalks, staircases, and even the main bar area are barely lit, however, giving privacy to the celebutants who frequent it. Although The Climax is almost exclusively an A/B list celebrity underground hangout, it is only the cream of the crop that are allowed to sit in the privacy of the VIP bar.

 

Why? The owners, of course.

 

Bobby doesn’t know much about them, but he knows that one of the owners of The Climax was famous across the galaxy for his beauty and had a cross-dimensional modelling contract that earned him billions of billions of dollars.

 

Easily one of the most famous people across all conceivable dimensions, it was said that Song Yunhyeong would sometimes surprise the guests of his (multiple) bars by paying them a visit.

 

Despite being done with modelling, he was still too busy to frequent his properties too often – although no one was certain why. Bobby had heard from Chanwoo (the main bartender, his boss and supervisor) that Yunhyeong’s business partner was even more famous, but he didn’t even know his name.

 

The walls are painted charcoal – upon closer inspection, what could be easily mistaken for a concrete texture is actually a collection of circuitries. Bobby knows if he places his hand on the wall, a set of algorithms could easily identify him by the shape and pressure points of his hand and automatically order his usual. That is, if he were a customer, and not the assistant bartender.

 

He skirts to the edge of the club, where a winding staircase is conveniently placed behind a marble palm tree sculpture framed by pink and purple LEDs.

 

On the way, there isn’t a single face he passes that he _hasn’t_ seen on television at least once or twice. Popular singers, dancers, television personalities and artists surround him, but he feels no interest at that fact. He’s just here to get a paycheck.

 

Bobby clambers up the staircase to the main bar, nodding at the two bodyguards manning the entrance. One has wacky Neapolitan hair, half-pink and half-yellow. The other is absolutely **enormous** — one of his biceps easily as thick as Bobby’s thigh. Absolutely masculine, the both of them.

 

“Jiwon.” They nod at him together.

 

Bobby feels himself relax a little bit at the kindness in their voices. He’s always been grateful for the fact that despite being far under their ranking, they have always treated him with respect. Off-hours, they’re the kind of people that Bobby wouldn’t mind getting a drink with.

 

If only he had time to do so.

 

“Shownu, Taehyung.” He responds politely, but distantly, and crosses the distance over to the bar. As he traipses over to the bar, he sees the main bartender – Chanwoo – wiping down the gleaming obsidian of the bar.

 

He knows he’s using a polish imported from the closest galaxy nearby—he doesn’t remember the name, but he knows it’s the best thing on the market to polish diamond, which is what the bar’s counter is encrusted in.

 

He walks up to the bar, trying to ignore the hungry stares thrown his way by the men and women sat around its perimeter.

 

“Bobby! Hey baby!” He recognizes that voice of that woman.. a singer who just recently left her husband after being cheated on by him many times. If he remembered correctly, she was one of the regulars.

 

“There’s our beautiful bartender. You finally gonna give me more than just a drink or what?” He resists the urge to roll his eyes at the comment dropped by none other than Lee Taemin—talented, gorgeous, charismatic, and all too aware of it.

 

Bobby looks up just long enough to notice a man with violently sharp cheekbones and pastel pink hair sat next to him, silent and staring blankly into the gently rippling surface of his drink. He finds himself frowning at the man’s dysregulation, about to ask him if he’s okay when—

 

“Forget Yunhyeong, _he’s_ the most beautiful man in the multiverse!” Okay, _that_  made him blush.

 

He presses his hand to the underside of the counter—it’s covered in the same circuitry as the walls downstairs and the servers of the bar identify him in an instant.

 

The portion of the counter directly in front of him adopts the same shimmery effect as the door had earlier and he steps through it with ease, the disintegrated particles tickling his skin as he passes through them.

 

“Hey, boss.” He smiles warily at Chan, who turns around and regards him with a grimace.

 

“If you’re ever late again, you will be fired. Immediately. Do you understand?” Bobby scowls internally, but wears an apologetic pout on the outside, nodding a silent apology. Chanwoo gives him a once-over and rolls his eyes.

 

“You’re lucky you’re so popular with the patrons— God knows why, what with those tattoos and piercings.” Bobby grins innocently, sticking his tongue out and making a peace sign with his fingers, shrugging at the same time.

 

Chan opens his mouth to chastise him for the unsophisticated behavior, but is interrupted by an indignant shout from a rather angry patron.

 

“How many fucking times do I have to ask for a Mazolaxian Mama? Are you actually sending someone to Mazolaxia to get the liquor?”

 

“Coming right up, Mr. President.” Chanwoo shoots Bobby a sharp look as he goes off to fulfil his orders, a look that’s a mix between ‘I hate my life’ and ‘Get the fuck to work, NOW.’

 

Bobby thinks he heard laughter coming from the body guard’s post.

 

Resigning himself to his work, Bobby sighs, walking to the other edge of the ring from Chan and approaching a quadruplet of girls sat together, giggling drunkenly to each other. As soon as they notice him, they all perk up.

 

Bobby’s been working here long enough to know what a starlet looks like when she’s trying to display her best assets: puffing the chest out, exposing the vulnerable flesh on the neck, raising of the natural vocal pitch by two or three octaves.

 

The girls from Blackpink are no different, except in the sense that unlike when other idols do it, it actually brings him some satisfaction to see them get flustered when he engages with them.

 

“Oh, hi Bobby!” The shortest, Lisa, coos, smiling a thousand-volt smile that reveals two rows of perfectly straight teeth. Ah, she’s cute. Bobby thinks, amusedly.

 

“Hi ladies, what can I get for you?” Bobby grins at them, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Rose, you dyed your hair red—it looks good.” He maintains eye contact with the aforementioned girl, who crumples like paper under his gaze and looks like she’s doing all she can not to swoon to the floor.

 

“I’m impressed you noticed! The purple doesn’t look bad on you either.” She winks at him and smiles, a wide, toothy grin that illuminates her face with childlike joy and naiveté. It’s clear she’s a little farther gone than the rest of the group by the way she sways just a little when she smiles.

 

Bobby opens his mouth to answer, but is interrupted by the most beautiful of the four.

 

“Hey, hey. Before we all get into what I’m sure is a very interesting conversation about hair, can we get our drinks?” She gives Bobby a very pointed look, like _don’t flirt with my groupmates or I’ll kill you_. Putting his hands up in submission, he concedes to Jisoo’s request.

 

“Fine, but you gotta tell me what you want first!” He drawls, hyperaware of the contrast between their sophisticated, exotic accents and his working class New Yorkern accent. Part of him wondered if that was why he was so desirable to them—because he made them feel superior.

 

* * *

 

 

“Mic check, one, two, yeah my name is B.I!”

 

The response B.I’s crowd gives him is deafening. He feels on top of the world, as he’s becoming more and more used to feeling. Of all the places in the universe he’s performed, Earth’s crowds produce the most ecstatic responses. He loves it here, especially _right here_ in the underground venues of New York. The crowd are wild and it makes him go wild.

 

With his encore finished, he returns to the backstage area, adrenaline still rushing through his system.

 

Normally when he finishes a gig like that, he’s ready to crash for the night; get a whole day’s sleep to recover, but right now he’s still too excited.

 

He wants to channel that energy somewhere else, and he knows exactly the place. With the swipe of a card he’s changed from his concert persona into a chic, flashy suit. His hair is gelled and styled, and he’s wearing a pair of designer sunglasses - despite it being now half past midnight.

That’s just the kind of guy he is.

 

He makes his way as discreetly as he can from one back alley to the next - and there is his destination; Climax. His lips quirk up into a smile and he approaches the door guards; simply having to lower his sunglasses and look at them for the guards to know who he is.

 

He sways rather than walks into the venue, the music blasting from the place taking over his body already, and he’s able to ignore the pairs of eyes that fall on him and stare - he’s trained in doing that now.

 

While making his way up the spiral staircase to the VIP bar, he presses his hand to the wall out of habit, an order for his regular being sent to the bar.

 

He takes a seat at the counter, only now taking his sunglasses off and hanging them on the collar of his shirt. His legs bounce as he looks around; he’s still so full of adrenaline.

 

He can feel even the people on either side of him are kind of looking at him. Everyone here seems to be absorbed in conversation already, having a good time.. he’s not sure who he’ll talk to yet, but he’ll find someone. There’s the usual crowd of giggly, drunk girls - he’d rather not.

 

There’s guys in business suits too, and again, he’d rather not - being a rapper they’ll act superior in intelligence, and there’s no way he can be bothered with that. At this point he’s considering just dancing with randomers in the non-VIP area. He taps his fingers against the counter, his eyes flitting between the bartenders.

 

Where’s his drink?

 

The silver contacts in Bobby's eyes are also fitted with a convenient micro-display that illuminates his vision with information about incoming orders. When a dialog box pops up showing an order for the most expensive cocktail on the menu (costing around a thousand dollars for two unit's worth), Bobby's eyebrows shoot up.

 

He knows the customers in the VIP bar are rich, but they usually don't usually splurge unless they're trying to impress someone-- and while pissing matches are common among people with goliath egos such as those surrounding Bobby, it still comes as a shock because most of them grow out of the showy phase quite quickly.

 

His eyebrows raise further when the name of the patron shows up in futuristic lettering in the top left hand corner of his vision: Hanbin Kim.

 

Bobby finds himself scurrying over to the safe they kept under the bar containing the more expensive ingredients. He uses his biometrics to unlock it and pulls out a Ziploc bag containing a large red rock.

 

"Someone ordered the Aviqean Glow?" He hears Chanwoo standing above him, questioning.

 

"Yeah, someone named Hanbin Kim." Bobby brings the bag onto counter and pulls out a hammer.

 

Chanwoo suddenly looks deep in thought, pensive. "Huh."

 

"You know him?" Bobby's surprised at Chan's reaction— usually he's very casual or even apathetic towards patrons, so any show of emotion from him must mean this guy is a big deal. Chanwoo opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by the loud sound of Bobby smashing the rock into pieces. When he opens the Ziploc afterwards, it's filled with a variably textured, glittering powder.

 

"You don't?" The boss replies dazedly, looking down the end of each catwalk as if he was looking for someone.

 

"Are you fanboying?!" The older asks as he pulls out a pitcher of golden liquid.

 

Bobby is bewildered at his behavior. He'd spent the past 9 months working for 'Chanbot' (as he so a affectionately referred to him behind his back) thinking that the terminator was emotionless and terrifying. To see him show even this soupçon of interest in a patron shook Bobby to his core.

 

He pushed against his lip ring with his tongue— a behavior that was both a nervous tic and a result of him not yet being used to the accessory.

 

"Do I look like a fanboy?" Chanwoo growled. Bobby took in the taller man's dapper suit, broad build and arms strong enough to break diamond and, after a second thought, swallowed quickly and shook his head.

 

"That's what I thought." But Bobby didn't miss how Chans emerald green eyes kept flicking between the entrances to the two catwalks on either side, a dead giveaway of his thoughts.

 

Bobby tried not to smile as he poured the Aviqean crystals into a tall cocktail glass, then pours the liquid gold over it until the glass is half full.

 

He finishes it off by torching the glass with the flamethrower until the two substances explode in a violent chemical reaction that expands them to twice their original volume.

 

The resultant drink is a nebulous, sparkling liquid that fills the glass to near overflowing— but Bobby has so much experience making it that he has the proportions just right.

 

He pops a cute cocktail umbrella and a sprinkling of red sugar around the rim and admires his work. How beautiful is it that he can make a drink to mimic the milky way? It even has small white particles swimming in it that reminisce of stars.

 

As he pops a solid gold straw into the cup, he hears a gasp from behind him. He knows it's Chanwoo by the fact that he can now see a figure walking down the catwalk.

 

His eyes narrow— he can't see the man's face, but that swagger is definitely the walk of the kind of person who would order an Aviqean Glow, and that kind of person is a douche.

 

Not a surprising encounter in his line of work by any means, but he's still on edge by the way this man carries himself like he's God's gift to the world.

 

Disgusted and unsettled by the celebrity’s demeanour, Bobby pops the drink down on the counter and scuttles over to Chanwoo.

 

"Do you wanna serve him? I think I'll stick to Shinee and Beyoncé." Chanwoo grins.

 

"If you thought, even for a second, that I was going to let you serve him— covered in tattoos and piercings, then, well, maybe you do have a sense of humour." He pushes past Bobby to go communicate with Hanbin, who has since pulled up to the bar counter.

 

Bobby walks over to the other end of the bar, back to Shinee and back to feeling like he's the tits.

 

Leaning across the bar, he opens his mouth to greet Taemin and his pink-haired friend, but then regrets his decision to come over immediately when he feels a pair of hands on either side of his face.

 

"Bobby! Did you finally decide you want to give oppa Tae what he wants?" Taemin coos. Bobby wonders if he'll lose his job if he punches this guy in his big lipped face.

 

"Ah, Taemin-ah, leave the kid alone." Taemin’s hands are slapped off Jiwon’s face, and he feels grateful. The pink haired man speaks for the first time that night, and Bobby's jaw drops as he recognizes the voice. Is that Kim Jonghyun?!

 

Bobby had heard of Jonghyun a very long time ago, but not for good reasons. The artist’s suicide had wreaked havoc on the pop music industry, nearly bankrupting the record label that had signed him as it’s employees had been too inconsolable to record or write music due to his death.

 

He remembers watching Jonghyun’s memorial service on TV-- watching the citizens of the Greater American Supernation placing dusty pink roses in floating lanterns and setting them free in the sky. Thousands upon thousands of bright candles dotted the sky, and all of New York had been alit that night.

 

But if Jonghyun had died, why was he here, right now, in the flesh, saving him from Taemin?

 

“Oh, hyung, I’m just giving him an opportunity!” Taemin’s melodious voice rings in Jiwon’s ears, and he can’t help but scowl.

 

“A city boy like him will never have a chance to fraternize with people on our level again.. regardless of how cute he is.” As he says that, he shoots Bobby a wink that makes him sick.

 

He hated the way that these celebrities saw themselves— as another species rather than slightly luckier members of the same one. Taemin’s smirk held a wry note, like he was doing Bobby a favour by even interacting with him.

 

He wasn’t a fan of the concept. It was part of the reason that he’d definitely not fare well dating a star—not that the opportunity would ever arise, but he was grateful for that because as he looked into Taemin’s warm eyes, he was sure he wanted nothing to do with this life as soon as he could afford to do… literally anything else.

 

“Leave him alone.” Jonghyun repeats, sighing down into his drink like he’s used to dealing with Taemin’s shit. Taemin just huffs and turns away from Jonghyun, placing his chin on the bar stool.

 

“A-ah, excuse me, if you don’t mind..?” Bobby finds himself bowing to Jonghyun. “Are you Jonghyun-ssi?” The pink-haired man nods, eyeing Jiwon warily.

 

“Why do you ask? I figured all of you bartenders would know your clients by now.”

 

“I heard that you’d—” Taemin immediately jumps forward, trying to cover Jiwon’s mouth by clamping a hand over it. However, confused, Bobby dodges the hand, giving Taemin a weird look, and finishes, “—died. Like, years ago.”

 

As soon as the words leave Jiwon’s mouth, Taemin grabs him by the collar and yanks him across the counter so sharply that his feet lift off the ground. Too shocked to respond, Jiwon does nothing as Taemin snarls in his face.

 

“You-- ” But he’s interrupted by Jonghyun, who tilts his head and stares at the glowing neon countertop, body slowly melting into a slumping position. Bobby swears he can hear whirring coming from the inside of his body as he moves.

 

“I’m dead? Hah! No I’m not, I’m not—” He chuckles, and mid-laugh, a jerk overcomes his body. He twitches. He sits upright so quickly that Bobby is sure he heard his spine snap as he does so.

 

Broken sounds erupt from his body, sounding like knives upon knives sharpening. The sound of a soulless body’s screaming.

 

“Kim Jonghyun, best known as the lead singer of popular South Korean pop group SHINee, has passed away. He was 27.” Jonghyun is the one talking for sure, but Bobby knows this isn’t his voice. He sounds too inanimate… too neutral... too _robotic_.

 

Jiwon realizes he’s made an enormous mistake. The scape between Jonghyun’s upper and lower lashes turn to static, monochromatic flickering in place of pupils just for a second, then they flash back. Jonghyun’s head jerks to one side erratically, like a marionette with broken joints.

 

“Jonghyun was one of five members of SHINee, a prolific band formed in 2948 and which quickly shot to fame in South Korea. D—d—dead…” The voice that comes out of this body is a far cry from the beautiful vocals he’d heard on TV growing up. No, this voice is slow, corrupted, deepening in pitch by the second.

 

It’s at this moment that Bobby realizes this is not Jonghyun.

 

“I’m.. dead…” He breathes. Bobby fusses with his lip ring nervously. Taemin looks on with shock in his eyes, but there’s something underneath that as well—a panic, a terror. A fear of losing a loved one a second time. Black, inky fluid oozes from his tear ducts and slides down his cheeks. This Jonghyun looked lost, helpless, confused, and inhuman.

 

This Jonghyun was an android.

 

“You fucking idiot!” Taemin screams, lunging at Bobby, no doubt about to try and take him out. Bobby closes his eyes in preparation for the impact of fists on his face, but after a few seconds pass, he opens his eyes to see Taemin approaching the malfunctioning bot, who had begun to seize as it registered the paradox of its own existence.

 

He collects Jonghyun in his arms and hoists him to his feet, helping him walk out of the bar even as smoke starts to billow out from the sides of his head.

 

By now, the other patrons of the bar are all staring at Jiwon, who’s too occupied staring after the two Shinee members to even remember his own existence.

 

He’d seen some fucked up things in his time at this job— aliens hiding as people (although he’d never reveal HyunA’s secret), people with multiple heads, people who could perform actual magic (that night he’d spent with Dreamcatcher had been wild), and more, but he’d never in his life seen a cyborg before.

 

He wondered if that Jonghyun had actually been a taxidermy of the original artist’s body or a work of bio-circuitry and synthetic materials.

 

He took a second to rest his head against the cold obsidian of the counter, then shook himself off and straightened up. He had to keep going, semi-traumatic experience or not. After all, he was only paid by the drink and off tips.

 

He turns around to see Chanwoo chatting up Hanbin with a sycophantic grin on his face and rolls his eyes. Such a kiss-ass. It makes something sink in his stomach, wondering what must be so special about this guy that even Chan is sucking up to him.

 

Chan, who punched the ruler of the neighbouring GALAXY in the face and threw him out of the establishment. Chan who took shit from no one, Chan who even talked back to the owners of the bar(or so he’d heard).

 

He knows he’s supposed to be working, but instead he finds himself leaning against the counter and staring over at Hanbin and Chanwoo talking, a bitter expression on his face. What a jackass, wearing sunglasses indoors at night.

 

Before all this had unfolded, Chanwoo had sauntered up to Hanbin with his Aviqean Glow in hand.

 

“Welcome, Hanbin-ssi.” He gives a little bow and slides the drink in front of him, unable to rip his eyes from him.

 

“What brings you to The Climax? From what I’ve heard, you usually frequent the bosses’ other bars—” He pauses to think.

 

“Is it B-day that you’re usually in? I know the bartender there—Hongseok, great guy.” He realizes he’s babbling, and instead of stopping, he continues, but decides that he’ll look cool doing it if he wipes down the table at the same time.

 

“You know, it’s really a fantastic thing that you’re here today— I’ve heard from boss that they might be coming over tod—” He’s interrupted by frantic screaming from the other side of the room and freezes, not wanting to turn around.

 

 _This kid is definitely fired._ He feels his face heat up in rage as his one-on-one time with Hanbin is interrupted. He slowly turns around and his jaw drops at the spectacle of two Shinee members storming across the catwalk, one literally smoking.

 

“That fucking kid,” Chanwoo growls, so angry he doesn’t notice himself violating bar procedure and using foul language in front of arguably the most important patron they’ve ever had. “First he’s late, now this-- what did he screw up now?”

 

Hanbin looks up as a tall man who’s considerably more formally dressed than the other VIP-bar staff approaches him.

 

He offers a lazy smile and cocks his head, thanking the man as his drink is set down before him. This member of staff seems to be quite apprehensive at the moment, and Hanbin kind of wants to laugh, but doesn’t.

 

Instead, he expresses thanks for his drink, and upon looking at said drink, his eyes widen. The Aviqean Glow served in Songhyuk bars is normally good, but this particular one looks _exquisite_ , looks like part of the galaxy itself.

 

No doubt it was made by someone skilled in the art. He made the right choice trying Climax out, he thinks. He’s so engrossed in examining the drink that he doesn’t really catch most of the staff member’s excited babbling (not that he’d have had much of a chance to get a word in edgeways, anyway.) 

 

His thoughts are broken by the same thing that stops the man’s rambling. He also looks over at where the scream comes from, his eyebrows raising as two members from SHINee walk (well, one walks, the other is hauled) out.

 

Taemin’s in for a fun night.. that’s what he gets for trying to bring back someone who’s passed away, he thinks, rather indifferently.

 

It’s sad, no doubt; he was a fan of Jonghyun’s vocals and personality himself, but Hanbin is a firm believer of leaving the past in the past. He prefers to focus on the here and now, which is exactly why his gaze fixates on a rather stormy looking member of staff - who seems to have been involved in the incident that just unfolded.

 

Purple hair, illuminated by the neon lights, sleeve tattoos and a jaw that could cut glass. Hanbin is _interested_.

 

He takes an appreciative sip of his Aviqean Glow, wondering if the cute, glowering boy made his cocktail. He hopes that’s the case.

 

Despite the manager (he assumes that’s the tall man’s position) standing in front of him, he remains fixated on the purple-haired boy, hoping the other will return eye contact eventually.

 

 

After a while of serving drinks to other guests (and finally giving in and writing an admittedly fake phone number on Rose’s wrist in permanent marker), Bobby gets the sense he’s being watched. It sends chills down his spine.

 

He turns around, slowly, after passing a frothy Udoxian shot to Beyonce, and sees Hanbin watching him. Or at least, he thinks he’s watching him—he can’t tell with the sunglasses on(seriously man, get a grip—you’re _indoors_ ).

 

Bobby frowns in Hanbin’s direction, holding the ostensible eye contact with a glower before turning around and tending to the bar, rearranging, reorganizing and replacing supplies.

 

He knows it’s irrational, but after their little stare-off, Jiwon finds himself seething.

 

How dare that fucker even look at him?  He doesn’t notice the snarl that’s overtaken his features while he works until the president of Korea (singular) asks him why he’s glowering. He’s not supposed to talk to any of the patrons unless they engage with him first, and by God is Jiwon glad that someone’s talking to him right now.

 

“Homie,” he starts, dropping all pretence of respect for the man in favour of allowing raw emotion to shine through his northern accent, “Do you see that guy over there?”

 

“Wow, is that Hanbin Kim?” The president looks surprised to see him there. “He hasn’t visited Korea since his first debut!”

 

“That’s not the point!” Bobby snaps, and the president adjusts his posture, towering threateningly over Bobby. He wears a frown on his face that shows clear disapproval for the disrespectful way that Bobby just spoke to him.

 

“I’m so sorry.” Bobby apologizes rapidly, bending down and bowing before promising him a drink on the house.

 

“What is the point, then?” The president asks, sipping on a quality home(planet)-brewed beer.

 

“He just looks so.. douchey.” Bobby wrinkles his nose. “How else do I explain it? So full of himself, so self-assured. It’s like he carries this aura that screams ‘disregard for humanity’.”

 

He looks over at Hanbin again, sending a glower in his direction that says _I hope you leave._


	2. the performer

“I need to be clear that I think this is a terrible idea.” Junhoe whines to Junhyo, his mouth stretched in a thin line.

 

His clone ignores him and continues to drag him down 42nd street. Despite being the female counterpart, Junhyo was most definitely the stronger of the two, and had no trouble pulling him closer and closer to The Climax.

 

“June-AH!’ He shouts, annoyed. “We’re not even celebrities—how the fuck do you think we’re going to get in?!”

 

“Shut up for ten minutes! _**AGH**_!” She screams back, even louder. He cowers at the sound.

 

Their argument (and the spectacle of a small, muscular Korean girl dragging a man three times her size like it’s nothing) causes quite a few heads to turn. But the girl pays it no mind, instead marching straight up to The Climax’s entrance point, past the line of people that stretches at least one hundred people long. Two guards donning phantasmic guns block their path, stepping together in front of the entrance and crossing their guns over each other to form a blockade.

 

“Hey, fellas!” She greets enthusiastically.

 

Junhoe scowls.

 

He didn’t involuntarily participate in a human cloning experiment as a child just to end up with a dumb bitch of a sister who was almost definitely going to get them both shot. When the guards don’t budge, but instead stare her down judgementally, she crosses her arms over her chest and rolls her eyes.

 

“Who are you?” They snap, guns glowing neon as they’re activated by their wielders.

 

“Junhyo..” He warns. 

 

Conveniently ignoring him, she rolls her eyes and sidles up closer to them, ignoring the defensive position the two guards take.

 

“You should know _exactly_ who I am.” She sneers, staring them both down with a stare that could slice through a planet’s mantle and core. “Or do I have to tell you-know-who about this?” She leans back on her heels with her arms crossed, staring them down.

 

The guards turn sheet-white at this exclamation and uncross their guns without saying a thing. Similarly, she just grabs Junhoe and stomps into the building.

 

“Jesus fuck, Junhyo, what the hell was that?” Bewildered, Junhoe inspects the layout of the club, unable to take it all in properly due to the way his clone had just behaved.

 

“I wanted to get in, sue me.” She shrugs, then drags him down a flight of stairs into the basement. Above them is a flashing sign: “ **DRAG NIGHT STARTS IN 4 MINUTES AND 39 SECONDS** ”

 

Him and Junhyo weave their way through the albeit small crowd to the front of the stage, perching against the cast iron dividers. He had no idea how Junhyo had managed to convince him to come here.

 

He personally wasn’t a fan of drag, and really didn’t like the idea of men dressed as women—it was _weird_. But he didn’t want his baby sister to come here alone—so he took her himself.

 

“I’m so excited! I can’t wait to see who’ll be performing!”

 

“This is really, really gay, Junhwo.. who would like this kind of thing?”

 

Little did he know,  _he_ would like this kind of thing.

 

* * *

 

 

Jinhwan sighs nervously as he frustratedly styles his hair this way and that, pouting and whining at the mirror.

 

He’s so incredibly nervous.

 

He’s not even performing specifically for the VIP guests, and yet even standing outside Climax had made his stomach queasy.

 

He only has one shot at this, he needs his routine to go 110% smooth. If he fucks up now he’ll be a drag queen alright; dragged into the pits of absolute abandonment, nothingness and failed careers.

 

He’ll have to go back to working two shitty minimum wage jobs 6 out of 7 days, so overworked and underpaid that he forgot what sleep really meant. He’ll have to live as a homeless person in New York, possibly watching successful drag queens walk by him like he’s dirt on their shoe.

 

Laugh at him for the nothing he is, even if he looks up at them with utmost admiration, because if Trixie Mattel isn’t his absolute idol..

 

“Fuck,” he sighs agitatedly, he’s getting side-tracked and only working himself up more by imagining sob stories that might not happen.

 

Not if tonight goes well.

 

With a dramatic little sigh, he looks into the mirror again, touching up his lip gloss and adding some subtle yet undoubtedly pretty fake lashes. Ahh, that’s better.

 

Of course, how could he have expected to take over the showbiz world without some falsies?

 

_Now_ he’s ready.

 

“Perfect.” He hums, exhales apprehensively, but manages a smile in the mirror. With that, there’s a call from somewhere else backstage, reminding him his gig is due to start in 10 minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

Upstairs, Chanwoo pouts as he looks over at the wall clock, realizing he’s going to miss the drag event going on downstairs. It was easily his favourite part of the night, but alas, he didn’t have time to change into street clothes and discreetly make his way down there.

 

* * *

 

 

“... ladies and gentleman of all galaxies, please welcome our first act of the night, Jinani!”

 

Jinhwan blinks from behind the stage and following that blink of the eye, he’s centre stage, hundreds of judging and barely interested celebrities in front of him.

 

Junhoe crosses his arms, incredibly done with this show already. He watches in contempt as the curtain rises. When it’s reached the top of the ceiling, his jaw drops.

 

Revealed on the stage is the most beautiful girl —boy – _person_? He’s ever seen.

 

His cheeks look diamond-dusted, so do his eyes; his hair looks like silk spun from bronze; and he looks fantastic in his elegant dress. When ‘Jinani’ scans the room with his eyes, Junhoe finds part of himself hoping that he’ll make eye contact with him.

 

Jinani's wig is long, brunette, and styled into a lavish updo, complete with bangs that compliment his face shape. His makeup is not over the top as drag queens go, but certainly still glam; his eyes and cheeks dusted gratuitously with highlighter. He’s wearing a long, glittery evening dress to match, one that covers his shoulders and hugs the slim and rather feminine figure he’s worked so hard for in all the right places.

 

Jinhwan looks glam, and elegant, and even though he’s still incredibly nervous, he feels ready.

 

He was born with unnaturally feminine vocals, people had said his voice was stunning, and he’s going to flash his talents to the whole world. He clears his throat, and looking out at the crowd with his eyes twinkling,  he begins his introduction.

 

“Good evening, everyone - or I suppose I should be saying good morning at this time! I’m Jinani, and I will be performing some songs I have written myself. So please, if you’re all quite done with trying to seduce one another for the night, I’d like five minutes to attempt that with my voice instead.”

 

When 'Jinani' speaks, Junhoe’s breath is stolen, and he fears his heart might be too.

 

Growing up, Junhoe had always thought he was asexual. He’d never had a girlfriend, boyfriend or mate from another species; although people and creatures were always throwing themselves at him, he never had any interest in any of them.

 

Looking up at ‘Jinani’, with his dazzling eyes and beautiful voice captivating the crowd, Junhoe had a feeling his heart had just been saving all the love he should have felt by now for this moment, for this _person_.

 

‘Jinani’ was stunning.

 

The drag queen laughs, shakily, and thankfully the crowd laugh with him ( _or at him? He’s not sure._ )

 

It doesn’t matter what they thought of his intro though - the moment the backing track plays and he begins to sing, he’s completely in his element.

 

He struts around the stage, enough where it’s confident and not over the top. His voice is steady, sultry, captivating, as is his gaze when he catches the eyes of audience members.

 

The attitude and adlibs he puts into certain parts of the song make it all the more enjoyable too; every coy smile and roll of his hips has more audience members watching with interest.

 

He has no idea because he’s lost in the thrill of performing, but he’s certainly off to a flying start.

 

Junhoe finds himself singing along with Junhyo, banging his head to the music and slinging an arm around her. A cyberpunk waitress saunters by him with a circular tray in her hand and he politely taps her on the shoulder, ignoring the appreciative smile she gives him when she notices her appearance. He smiles and quietly asks for two whiskey cokes, then leans over and asks Junhyo if she wants anything.

 

“Get me a whiskey coke!” He laughs— why even ask his clone what she wants?

 

“Make that three whiskey cokes.” The waitress winks at him and sashays away. He doesn’t even stare at her ass as she leaves, although he wishes he could say the same for his sister.

 

“Junhyo, stop! That’s piggish.” He shoulders her and she rolls her eyes, then turns to him and brings her hand, to her mouth, formed in a v shape.

 

“You know I like meat.” She wriggles her eyebrows and winks, and he scoffs and turns back to stare at ‘Jinani’ performing.

 

The waitress brings him his drinks and he downs the entirety of the first one—all of this has happened during the first song ‘Jinani’ performs.

 

With the other drink still in his hand, he looks back up to the drag queen’s stunning face and gets the privilege of watching her finish the song. When she does, the crowd erupts in cheers, becoming a writhing mass of jumping and screaming people. Junhoe realizes he’s the one screaming the loudest, jumping the highest. He misses the knowing smile that Junhyo flashes him.

 

* * *

 

 

Jinhwan is blown away by the response of the crowd, his chest rising and falling heavily as he takes the roars of applause and cheers in.

 

He hopes this positive reaction means he won’t be joining the poor homeless and poverty-stricken in New York, but he puts even thoughts like that out of his mind right now, enjoying the buzz of performing.

 

He bows, and bows again, a genuine and graceful smile on his face as he earnestly babbles at the audience.

 

“Thank you! Thank you all so much! Have a wonderful evening here at Climax!” He puts the mic back in its place and sashays - _sashays_ offstage, his entire body still vibrating with nervous energy even as he settles into a chair.

 

He’s just laughing to himself; nothing can wipe the smile off his face for the rest of the night, he’s quite sure. He’s even oblivious to the other Queens looking at him nervously, wondering if - _hoping_  - they’ll have the same reaction once they’re finished performing too.

 

He’s about to kick his heels off when reporters are ushered to him, asking if he’ll let them get pictures and ask some questions.

 

Who is he to say no?

 

He poses, and talks, still fucking smiling, giving the reporters a little wave once their time is up.

 

This is going to be in the _press_. He’s going to get recognition. More shows. He laughs to himself again, victorious and elated, the entire performance replaying in his mind again. Goodbye to shitty jobs and a shitty lifestyle.

 

He hopes.

 

“I’m going to get some drinks to celebrate how well that went! Come with?” He tugs on the arm of another drag queen once the performances are finished and they’re changed out dresses; back to natural faces and hair.

 

Min Yoongi replies with a “yes, I’ll absolutely come with!”

 

And with that, they head out of the backstage area and into Climax’s non-VIP area.

 

They’re barely recognizable as the dolled up performers they were just a short time ago, obviously, making it easier to blend in. Jinhwan moves straight to the bar, taking Yoongi with him. Tonight is absolutely a night to celebrate.

 

When the performance ends and Jinani walks off stage, Junhoe feels transfixed. He’s not able to move or even focus on what’s happening around him, even when the other drag acts come on stage he doesn’t pay attention. Junhyo is screaming in his ear, but he doesn’t pay her any mind.

 

What was that feeling?

 

His heart felt like it was in his mouth.. His hairs were on end.. he almost felt dizzy. Was that a stomach ache? It felt too nice to be a stomach ache—it was a sharp feeling, like he was falling. Perhaps he was..

 

Is he gay? Is that what that was? Or was he just attracted to drag queens?

 

But when he thinks back to all the times boys have grinded against him in clubs, when he looks up at the stage and sees the current act (a pair of queens named She’Dawn and Yan Ann) and feels nothing, he realizes that’s not what’s going on. He didn’t like boys, he didn’t like drag queens.

 

He just liked Jinani.

 

The realization shook him to his core, and he was truly unsure of how to deal with it. The feelings blossoming in his chest, seizing his heart, fluttering inside him were so foreign and freaky they made him fearful.

 

He wasn’t sure what was happening to him, nor was he sure what was _going_ to happen, but he’d never been a thinker, anyway. He’d always been a doer.

 

Without a second thought, he downs his entire second whiskey coke (the first of which probably aiding him in his current decision) and starts to make his way out of the crowd.

 

A hand seizes his wrist.

 

“Where are you going?” The exact female copy of him asks, her voice concerned. He rips his hand out of hers and shouts,

 

“I need to find her!” She looks at him seriously, considering him, and nods, letting her hand fall to her side.

 

“Go get ‘em, bitch. I’m gonna go find something for myself..” She says, her eyes hungry as she allows her gaze to follow the waitress from earlier, who’s serving drinks to a couple nearby.

 

Junhoe salutes her and stalks off towards one of the lower floor bars. He needs to find Jinani, but first.. a pick-me-up.

 

* * *

 

 

Jinhwan’s drink is being served to him as the stool next to him is suddenly occupied. He stops chatting Yoongi’s ear off for a moment to look curiously at whoever has taken the seat, and he’s rather pleasantly surprised.

 

The boy is far taller than him, with a sharp jaw (a very sharp jaw, Jinhwan appreciates) and an even sharper gaze. Everything he’s wearing hugs him in all the right places and it is just Jinhwan, or are things a bit hot in here?

 

He’s even more pleasantly surprised when wonderboy speaks.

 

His tone is rather low and some words that he speaks have an underlying rasp to them. Jinhwan is just staring like a dumbass, lips parted a little, and he’s tuned out Yoongi who’s trying to regain his attention. Jinhwan thinks he might’ve just found someone to continue his ‘celebrations’ with; if this person is into that.

 

He can certainly try.

 

When Junhoe sits down, he instantly realizes he’s made a mistake. The source of his sudden-onset alcoholism is sitting next to him—Jinani in the flesh.

 

Does he turn his head, try to make conversation, try to engage at all? Nah, not yet.

 

He doesn’t wanna come off as a creeper—he has to be casual, make it seem like he didn’t actually follow him to the bar. Which, he didn’t, but he had definitely been looking for the other man a little too enthusiastically.

 

Plus, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say just yet. “Hey, I think you’re my sexual awakening” might be a little too forward.

 

So instead he faces the bartender (a confident-looking girl who’s named ‘Sunmi’ according to her nametag) and introduces himself.

 

“Hello there.” His gruff voice cuts through the noise of the club quite nicely, ringing in his head. Maybe it’s because he’s already buzzed, though.

 

“I’m a lesbian.” Comes the curt reply.

 

Junhoe blinks.

 

“Alright,” He replies slowly, still processing what on earth could have evoked that response, “I’d like a shot of the strongest thing you have.”

 

“Do you want bleach?” Sunmi props her head on her hands, and her elbows on the counter, looking at him impatiently. _Damn, this bitch hates men._

 

“Can I just get a **fucking** shot of tequila please?” He asks, almost entirely politely, save for the word ‘fucking’ which he spits out like it’s fire.

 

Sunmi scoffs and turns around to get him his drink. While she’s dealing with the salt and cutting the lemon, Junhoe props one elbow on the counter and covers his face with his hand, peeking past it to get a look at Jinani.

 

Damn. He thought he’d see some kind of imperfections when he was closer by to him, close enough to see the individual eyelashes on his face and the variety in the glitter spread on his rich cheekbones.

 

But instead, he’s met with flawless, poreless skin; stunning eyes; perfect lips with a hairpin cupid’s bow. Hell, the queen even smells amazing.

 

Junhoe sighs. He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or not, but Jinani is debilitatingly attractive. He doesn’t know if he can actually talk to him.

 

When Sunmi passes him his shot, it couldn’t have been soon enough. He immediately spreads the salt on his wrist, licks it, downs the shot _way_ too enthusiastically and chases it with the lemon, which he almost swallows whole out of nervousness.

 

“That’s impressive.” Jinhwan comments without thinking after watching the guy next to him down his shot at the speed of light.

 

He wants to hit himself for making such a dumb comment, but carries on in attempting to socialize, letting out a little laugh. He takes a sip of his drink, turning his body so he’s facing the stranger a little more, his head tilting in curiosity.

 

Normally Jinhwan would be confident in these situations, introducing himself with no problem, but this guy is so tall and raspy (and hot) that Jinhwan feels mildly, well, intimidated. Especially after his first comment. He doesn’t wanna earn a strike two on saying things that are awkward. So he sits without saying a word, his gaze flickering from his glass, to the bar, to Junhoe and back again.

 

_I wish he was talking to me,_ Junhoe thinks forlornly, staring into his reflection in the empty shot glass.

 

His heart is beating quite quickly, he realizes, and he’s incredibly nervous. _Just talk to him, damn it! You’re Koo Junhoe, girls and guys have been throwing themselves at you your whole life. This is no different._

 

He turns a little to face Jinhwan, removing his hand from his face so that he can get a proper view, and he feels sick. _But HE’S different._

 

Sunmi looks between Jinhwan and Junhoe, both trying to interact with each other and failing, and finds herself grinning. She knows exactly how to both get a spectacle to laugh at and satisfy the misandrist part of herself. And God _damn_ does she love a good display of male suffering.

 

She slams her fist on the counter, grabbing the attention of everyone sat in the semicircle surrounding her.

 

“Alright bitches, it’s 3AM! You know what that means!”

 

“MORNING MAKEOUT MADNESS!” Everyone at the table cheers, in unison without skipping a beat. At the same time as Junhoe checks his watch and sees that it’s not even 2:45 yet. What the hell is this crazy lesbian doing?

 

“Grab the person next to you and get kissing! Whoever’s sexiest gets free drinks for the night!” Junhoe watches as people sat in the bar pair off and lock lips immediately, wrapping their hands in each others hair and going to town.

 

He realizes, heart dropping, that this is completely normal culture for people in stardom—sex is a currency and the reward is an ego boost. And apparently free drinks, in this case.

 

Jinhwan’s eyes widen at the bartender’s sudden announcement, also aware that it's too early. He'd heard of 'morning makeout madness' before but hadn't actually believed something of that nature could be real— rather, it sounded more like a health code violation. But free drinks are on offer, so he’s not about to correct her slip-up.

 

Junhoe feels even iller than before when the chain of pairing up ends with everyone kissing someone except him and Jinhwan.

 

Awkwardly, he looks side to side, trying to think of an escape (does he really want one?). When he doesn’t find one, his face turns red and he feels himself freezing. He doesn’t know what to do. He _knows_ Jinani won’t want anything to do with him..

 

Sunmi looks on in amusement. This was even better than she thought it would be—is the tall jughead guy even breathing? His face is so fucking red. She leans against the wall of the bar and sips on a glass of wine.

 

Jinhwan turns to his right side, expecting Yoongi to be there and for them to get those free drinks no problem, but alas - his friend has deserted him and is happily wrapped up with a tall and handsome guy.

 

That bitch.

 

He wishes he hadn’t stopped to check the time. He looks around and his eyes settle on Junhoe; the only option left. Not that that’s a problem to him. The taller man seems distracted though, so he reaches a hand up to lay it on his shoulder, tugging at it as he leans in.

 

“Hey,” he grins, speaking into Junhoe’s ear so he’s heard loud and clear over the noise of the bar, “Wanna earn some free drinks?”

 

When Junhoe hears Jinhwan whisper in his ear, all his apprehension melts away, the ebb and flow of his confidence and intoxication all that’s left in it’s wake.

 

He turns his head to face Jinhwan, and grins dopily. When he hears her whisper in his ear, he shudders, chills of euphoria running down his spine at the adjacency, the warmth, the feeling of breath on his skin.

 

Jinhwan pulls back, still grinning, and the look in his eyes would suggest he doesn’t really want no as an answer.

 

In the heat of the moment his confidence returns to him, and he slides from his stool and onto Junhoe’s lap with ease, his grin turning to a smirk.

 

He has nothing else to lose so he might as well be outright bold. Besides, there are free drinks to play for, the prize being given to the sexiest pair - which is exactly why Jinhwan, again without shame, snakes his hands down the stranger’s front and grips tightly onto his hips.

 

Besides, like this, Jinhwan doesn’t have to worry about saying anything dumb to a hot guy. All they simply have to do is kiss.

 

Junhoe's heart is still pounding, but at this point it’s more excitement than anything. The idea that Jinani could return his attraction to him is exhilarating, and even though the thought that he’s just doing it to get free drinks crosses his mind, he ignores it in favor of the beautiful heart-shaped mole three inches from his face.

 

“I thought you’d never ask.” He murmurs.

 

He pulls a hand up to brush against the side of Jinhwan's face, running his fingers against the soft hair framing it. Then, he tangles his fingers in it (carefully, he knows it’s a wig) and pulls the queen's face to his, bringing their lips together.

 

He can taste sticky lip gloss and hums appreciatively at the sweet taste—so this was what a good kiss felt like. He silently gives thanks to Park Chanyeol, his first kiss, for giving him something that was absolutely nowhere near this level of pleasurable.

 

He moves his lips against Jinhwan's softly, passionately, and he can’t ignore the feeling pooling in his groin. Arousal, but also a feeling of contentedness, like there was nowhere better that he belonged than slotted between a tiny drag queen’s legs.

 

Junhoe flicks out his tongue to run it against the other boy's, then gently pushes it into her mouth, working his jaw to facilitate the waltz their lips were currently duetting.

 

Was that him? That moan? Couldn’t have been.

 

Then again, he could feel parts of himself pressing against the drag queen that definitely hadn’t been doing so before.. Still, he was Koo Junhoe, heartbreaker and big-dick wielder, and he wasn’t going to back off this sexy person because of a boner.

 

Instead, his bodily response gives him confidence and he pulls a pair of hands to Jinani’s hips, pulling them down to roll her ass into his crotch.

 

The feeling that that friction gives him sends sparks through his body, mainly his cock, and he feels himself shudder a little at the contact.

 

A few gentle breaths escape his lips in the form of pants, and he realizes how hungry he is for Jinani. He runs his hands up and down her body, the moans and appreciative mumbles escalating in both volume and frequency.

 

At this point, other patrons at the bar have stopped kissing, and are simply staring at the two—discreetly, but definitely still staring.

 


	3. the kismet

“Sir,” Chanwoo hears from behind him.

 

When he turns around, he realizes it’s none other than Hanbin Kim. Talking to  _him_.

 

When Hanbin initiates conversation with him, Chanwoo maintains a calm demeanour. But internally, he feels his heart soar. He’d been an avid follower of the great BI’s discography since he had been in intergalactic-pop training with YG.

 

Watching him ascend from a nobody to one of the most popular artists in the galaxy truly was a satisfying thing for him to have seen, and even being within the same airspace as him made him a little lightheaded. Of course, this made his job as a stoic bartender very difficult.

 

“Yes, sir?” He asks, trying to ignore how desperate and excitable he sounded when answering.

 

“May I speak to whomever made this cocktail?” Chanwoo sees Hanbin isn’t even looking at him, and turns around to see who his eyes are on. Immediately, he’s bristling.  _Jiwon_? Hanbin wanted to speak to  _Jiwon Kim_? Jiwon “I rap to customers on the job for fun, have more tattoos than friends, and can barely speak English” Kim?

 

But of course, Hanbin is the customer. He has to treat him respectfully and abide by his wishes. Even if Chanwoo is in love with him.

 

“Of course, sir. That would be our rookie bartender.” He beckons Jiwon.

 

“Jiwon!”

 

When Bobby hears his name being called, he turns around, his attention being ripped away from showing Seungri a trick where he juggled filled shot glasses.

 

When he sees Hanbin, sunglasses up and staring in his direction, he scowls. Then, he realizes Chanwoo is looking his way as well with daggers in his gaze.

 

“Hello there!” He grins fakely, walking over with a huge smile on his face.

 

He makes eye contact with Hanbin and his smile widens — it’s a genuine one this time, spurred at the thought of throwing Hanbin off the balcony of the suspended bar.

 

“This is Mister Hanbin Kim, as I told you earlier.” Chanwoo informs him, and from the malicious look in his eyes Bobby can tell Chanwoo was trying to subtly drop the hint that Bobby has no idea/interest in who Hanbin is.

 

Although unlike Bobby, Chanwoo obviously had the intention of impressing Bin.

 

“He asked me to call you  _personally_  to compliment the Aviqean Glow you’ve made!” Chanwoo stresses the word, making it clear how much of an honor he thinks this is.

 

Bobby crosses his arms and shifts his weight from one heel to the other, looking down his nose at the smug rapper.

 

“Well?” He makes direct eye contact with Hanbin, looking nothing but bored. He ignores Chanwoo’s jaw dropping in his peripheral vision.

 

Hanbin can only smirk in amusement at the dry and uninterested response of the rookie.

 

He doesn’t seem to know who Hanbin is, which Hanbin hasn’t experienced in a long time -  _everyone_  knows who he is.

 

In a way, it refreshes him; makes him remember the way he felt back in his beginner days, the days when he had to compete for attention and shout his name just for a slither of recognition from tough audiences.

 

Hanbin returns the direct eye contact, one hand reaching down to cup his drink and swirl the galactic drink within.

 

“As your manager here was saying,” He takes great delight in reminding this rookie of his position, “I wanted to personally compliment the way you’ve made this. It’s exquisite, I’ve not had it to this standard anywhere else. Thank you.”

 

His amused smirk turns to a genuine smile, and he raises his glass a little to the rookie.

 

"You're most welcome!" His voice is saccharine, with a sickly-sweet smile to match.

 

"Anytime, Hanbin-ssi." He concludes his act with a polite little bow, one eyebrow cocked in focus. Chanwoo pats his back approvingly.

 

"Ay, rookie, I didn't know you had it in you to treat the patrons like they deserved!" He flutters his lashes a little bit towards Hanbin as he says that. Bobby maintains his smile— if he doesn't, he's pretty sure he'll vomit.

 

"Chanwoo-ssi!" The manager frowns as the loud and by this point drunk president calls his name.

 

When Chanwoo turns around to look at the world ruler, Bobby immediately drops the smile.

 

"You egotistical bastard," He mouths, absolutely done with this man.

 

"Excuse me, sir. I have to take care of this."

 

Ah, no.

 

"Sir, allow me to take care of it—" Bobby offers, moving towards the other side of the room.

 

"CHANWOO!" the president's voice cracks— he sounds like he's about to cry.

 

"Oh my God," Bobby whispers, horrified. Were all celebrities idiots? If so, he's very glad not to be one.

 

"Ugh, I'd better take this." The manager looks as unhappy about this as Bobby is.

 

"Jiwon, stay here and make sure Hanbin here becomes a repeat customer." He gives a polite wave and runs off to take care of it.

 

Bobby turns around to make sure Chan is gone, then snatches the drink out of Hanbin's hand and takes a long slurp through the straw before smacking it back on the bar counter.

 

He knows he's gonna need a pick-me-up if he's going to spend the night talking to this bozo.

 

Hanbin simply lets the rookie slurp from his drink, looking as unbothered by it as he feels. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money to order another Aviqean Glow (or ten) more, if he wishes.

  
  
“So, rookie.” He starts, slouching in his seat and grinning as he looks up at the purple-haired boy.

  
“Are you this much of a cranky little bitch with everyone? Or is something about this egotistical bastard special to you?”

 

He smiles, looking like he’s enjoying this way too much — because he is. It’s quite fun to have someone treat him like dirt when he’s used to the opposite extreme.

 

Bobby feels his upper lip curl in contempt. He lets it.

 

"I don't know if I can be offended by a guy wearing sunglasses indoors at night." Holy shit, the drink is already starting to hit him— for a second he almost thought this guy had a nice speaking voice.

 

Hanbin was still ugly as shit  _aesthetically_ , but his voice almost sounded melodious.

 

Oh, Aviqea.. why must your drinks be so strong? Jiwon runs a hand through his hair and sneers.

 

"I don't think you're special at all. But you do, don't you? I'm surprised you managed to carry your massive ego all the way up those steps with your chicken legs."

 

Hanbin simply laughs, he knows as well as anyone else does that he is indeed pretty narcissistic.

 

He figures he’s allowed that much though, being rich and famous as he is.

 

“Oh, it’s not my ego weighing me down.” He pats the pockets of his tight jeans and smirks, “It’s my money.”

 

He slouches further in his seat, satisfied that he can practically feel the other seething from here.

 

“But you must think you’re something special too, eh? Neon purple hair, piercings, those sleeve tattoos, a cocky attitude, and inverted snobbery.. you seem pretty up yourself. Or were you not given enough attention as a kid?” He looks up at the boy through his lashes and grins, offering his glass to him for another sip (or slurp).

 

"Me? Full of myself?" Bobby echoes, both surprised and amused. He'd heard a lot, but that was a new one.

 

" _Buddy_ ," He sneers, "Let's just say that black hair doesn't suit me." He cringes at the memory of his high school photo pictures -- that black bowl cut was never to happen again. Besides, he justified, having edgy hair was better than being a dick.

 

Jiwon feels himself inflate with rage when Hanbin insults him. Instead of snapping at him, though, he just grabs the drink, smiles.

 

"Buuut, if you're so rich, you won't mind me wasting your money. So kind of you to offer your drink, anyway!" He downs it all— the equivalent of six shots going down as easily as honey.

 

"Thanks for that," He smiles facetiously at Hanbin.

 

Then, he runs his tongue over his lips, toying at the piercing in a suggestive manner. He wonders why this big shot Rapper is taking an interest in him.. Maybe..

 

He plops both his elbows down onto the counter and leans on them so the two of them are eye level.

 

Is he crazy, or is he about to try to seduce a universal star? His eyes narrow, dangerously feline as he considers how to go about this.

 

He gets the sense that Hanbin has never had his heart hurt before — or at least not for a very, very long time.

 

He could tell that Hanbin thought people were dispensible (he wasn't sure why, since Immortality Bands had been around for years and years now). Maybe it was time to teach him a lesson...

 

"You prick." The coy smile reaches his eyes this time, mind reeling with the possibility of putting this bastard in his place.

 

"It’s not wasting my money, rookie,” Hanbin seems to have taken a liking to the nickname, clearly aware of the effect it had on Jiwon.

 

“That is, if you enjoyed it, which you clearly have.” Hanbin returns the level eye contact Jiwon is giving him, his lips curled up into a smirk.

 

Jiwon feels his brows raise surprise as Hanbin mirrors his body language — his chin propped on his hand, an unimpressed smile on his features. The boy has a cute, crooked smile, and Hanbin stares as he drums his fingers lightly against his cheek.

 

“You must be quite a lightweight." Hanbin observes as Bobby sways a little in place. "I bet you're even underage.

 

"I'm literally not." Jiwon spits back, but doesn't stop swaying. Doesn't stop licking his lips. "Just because I'm not a borderline alcoholic doesn't mean I'm a lightweight."

 

Hanbin tilts his head, and Jiwon gulps. There's something dangerous about the way the rapper looks right now. Neck exposed, jugular gleaming vulnerably in the low neon light. His skin is glowing, and in the misty red haze of alcohol, Jiwon finds himself wanting a taste.

 

A boy with a hungry ego and a boy with a desire to see what the fuss is about. Maybe there's an outcome here where they can both benefit.

 

Bobby leans forward a little bit. "You know what's crazy?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He worries with his lip piercing, making direct eye contact with the other man. "I bet you think I'm hitting on you right now, don't you? Your ego's that big?" He gets close enough to see the flecks in the other man's irises, his voice dropped down to a whisper.

 

"But I'll let you think I am if it helps you sleep at night." He has the audacity to shoot Hanbin a wink.

 

Oh, his head was spinning. Yeah, definitely spinning.  But it wasn't unpleasant.

 

One of the reasons the Aviqean Glow was such a popular (and pricey) drink was because the aviqean crystals used to create it held metabolic inhibitors that prevented those who ingested it from getting too drunk— allowing them to just hit a sweet spot of tipsiness and skip the hangover the next day.

 

For a second, Bobby saw 3 or 4 Hanbins at once, unsure if that had been his imagination or not. Obviously, though it was a disgusting sight.  _Thank God I don't need to puke._

 

“Well, when you’re this close to me, and looking at me like that, am I supposed to assume it’s anything other than flirting?”

 

The other man chuckles lowly, grinning as Bobby shoots him a wink. He has this predatory look on his face, like he can feel Jiwon lowering his guard as he gets drunker.

 

“If you’re not flirting with me, rookie, then what are you doing?” He leans right in as he speaks, so close Jiwon can almost feel his breath on his face, their eyes locked.

 

“Are you trying to toy with me, piss me off, create a scene that’ll ruin my career? Do you really want to do that?” He smirks, eyes glinting, starting to rise from his seat.

 

"I think you and I both know I'm not trying to ruin your career-- not that I could. Sleeping with me would only boost it, anyway." Jiwon chuckles, absolutely proud of himself for thinking of that very clever line, then leans back a bit. Jiwon licks his lips.

 

"Trust me, if I was flirting with you, you'd know." He glances down at Hanbin's mouth. It's suddenly becoming a more and more appealing thought to give into his carnal urges, but Jiwon is still hesitant— Hanbin doesn't seem human enough to him yet.

 

But Jiwon can sense the humanity in him. Even through the thrum of his inebriation, he can feel something inside the man before him is broken. He wonders what it is. He's curious.

 

His gaze is torn from Hanbin's mouth to his eyes when their foreheads bump together.

 

"Right now, I think you're just exhibiting a classic case of the Male Inferiority Complex." Bobby licks his lips, reveling in the fact that because their faces are so close, his tongue almost touches Hanbins mouth as he swipes it across his own.

 

"Trying to intimidate a younger person just because you like the feeling of making people feel beneath you. You can't be this monodimensional, right? You're not just a stereotype on legs, are you? Even Tony Stark had an anxiety disorder, and he's much more attractive than you are." Bobby taunts gently, his eyes staring not at Hanbin, but into the middle distance.

 

As much as he's enjoying playing cat and mouse, he's getting sleepy. His eyes lid a little bit and he presses more weight onto Hanbin, their noses touching.

 

"Mmmm.."

 

Hanbin grins as he listens to Jiwon, and his eyebrows raise after his accusation. 

 

“A younger person? How old are you?” He asks, though the words have only just left his lips when Jiwon slumps against him,  _so_  close.

 

He clutches Jiwon’s arms tightly, steadying him in an upright position again.

 

“Aren’t you on the verge of ruining your own career right now? Don’t think your manager would you appreciate you sleeping on the job and sleeping on a patron at the same time.” He chuckles.

 

Jiwon breathes in Hanbin's skin during their brief period of skinship. He smells like sweat and Aviqea.

 

Bitch, disgusting.

 

"Ugh," He sharply pulls himself off the older man. "Chanwoo has his hands full right now."

 

As if on cue, he hears a feminine scream from behind him and doesn't even register when a glass goes flying over their heads and crashes into the far wall by Shownu and Taehyung.

 

Bobby fiddles with the cuffs of his shirt, mumbling, "Besides, getting fired from here wouldn't be the worst thing."

 

"Mr. President!" Chanwoo screeches.

 

"I SAID I WANTED EXTRA SUGAR IN MY DRINK!"

 

"THERE WAS EXTRA SUGAR IN THAT DRINK!"

 

"YOU'RE A LIAR! JUST LIKE MY WIFE!"

 

Bobby stands a little more upright, looking barely more sober.

 

"I'm 19, if you must know. That's right, I'm a adult ( _a_  adult.). How old are you, 30? You look aged. Not 'fine wine' aged, more like '4 packs a day' aged." Even as Bobby tosses out the insult, he can tell Hanbin sees through it. The man has literally flawless skin, he can't even pretend. Like, has Hanbin ever experienced having a pore? Does he know what those are?

 

Hanbin just laughs at Jiwon’s comment. Fuck, the laugh doesn't match him at all. It's too gentle, too soft for someone who's so rough around the edges. Hanbin laughs like he still has his innocence, but if he's in a place like this, Jiwon knows that can't be the case.

 

Sneaky.

 

“I’m 24. You’re not even 20, though, and a rookie bartender, yet you’re squaring up to rich customers.. aren’t you bold? What do you want from me, exactly? What are you getting out of this?” Hanbin grins, tilting his head in curiosity. Jiwon wonders if Hanbin has ever experienced anything like this in his jetset celebrity life.

 

"I'm not legal yet but they let me work here for some reason. Probably because the celebrities like me enough to buy me drinks." He looks pointedly at Hanbin when he says this, who just smirks lopsidedly.

 

What he doing talking to this prick? He has a nice buzz going, but he knows this isn't going to end in his favor.

 

The world doesn't let people from such different worlds interact without teaching one of them a lesson. Bobby knows it's always going to be him, and he doesn't particularly feel in the mood for learning— it's why he dropped out with a GED two years ago.

 

He looks at Hanbin with a completely different demeanor. As much as he doesn't like the guy, he has a job to do— and as much as he hates it, if he gets fired then half his household income is gone.

 

He can't ddu-du ddu-du that to his mom. She needs him, she needs the money.

 

"Anyway," Bobby slowly pushes himself to his feet, standing straight. It's only then that he notices Hanbin's undercut, seeing the shaved back of his head for the first time just then. He considers it progress that he doesn't comment out loud about how the rappers stylists clearly aren't doing him any favors and instead bows a little bit.

 

"I realize I'm being.." He blinks away sleepiness, trying to focus. "I'm being  _unprofessional_. Whatever you do is none of my business. I'm here to serve you, regardless of how much I think you're the physical manifestation of capitalism's preying on the low self esteem of teenage girls."

 

Shit, Jiwon, that was too much! Reel it in!  _Smile_!

 

He flashes the most unnatural smile one could give in Hanbin's direction.

 

Hanbin chuckles at Jiwon saying he’s unprofessional and then going on to basically insult his entire career.

 

Then again, his comment isn’t entirely wrong. Hanbin recognises himself that some of the music he’s put out there is a result of the popular music industry conveyor belt. He can see the conversation with this boy is going nowhere, and frankly, knowing he’s 19, Hanbin feels it’s.. a little wrong.

 

His buzz from the concert earlier is gone and he’s hitting the point where he wants to be home and sleeping.

 

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to have to serve this ‘byproduct’ any longer. Go and check that your manager is okay, he seems like a good guy.” He chuckles, and Jiwon watches nervously as his hands slink into his pockets.

 

“Here’s a tip for being the first person who hasn’t been sucking up to me in years.” He shoves money - money is no object to him, evidenced by the fact that he doesn't count first - into Jiwon’s hand, and hurries down the spiral staircase before Jiwon can stop him.

 

Jiwon feels irked by Hanbin and he doesn’t quite know why. His mood has been ruined all of a sudden, he just feels  _sour_. 

 

Yet, he wants more. So much that he's scared of what he'll do just to meet him again.


End file.
